


A Rose by Any Other Name

by staticdream (d6dreams)



Category: The Rose (Band)
Genre: A bit of You've Got Mail, A splash of Notting Hill, A surplus of pink candy hearts, Contemporary Wallflower and Reformed Rake?, F/M, Fluff and Angst, From Sex to Love, Hate to Love, Oops I have feelings, Romance, With all the Historical Romance tropes because those are the best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-29 13:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15730797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d6dreams/pseuds/staticdream
Summary: Sammy Kim is the returned prodigal son of a corporate mogul desperate to free himself of his father's influence and attain his freedom. He's spent a lifetime planning out his exit and finally he's found it in the form of The Black Rose, a small kitschy bookstore and the land it stands on. The one thing his father wants but cannot seem to acquire.Violet Song is a struggling boutique bookseller running the only exclusively romance bookstore in the country. She's a believer of fairy tales and happy ever afters, and though she's seen enough of the world to know it never works the way it does in books, she's holding out for love and passion and won't accept a life without it.All Sammy has to do is seduce the wallflower into giving him what he wants. But soon, Sammy's carefully laid plans are torn into pink heart-shaped confetti and thrown into the air. Violet has what he wants, but can she also have everything he can possibly need?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ...I don't know. Don't look at my shame. Anyway, standard disclaimers apply: I have no idea what I'm doing.

Sam Kim, prodigal son returned and heir-apparent to a fortune, was not hiding.

Yes, he’d gone off to the balcony of the hotel’s grand ballroom, far enough from the crowd below who have pledged donations to his mother’s charity benefit that the noise and music had faded to a distant humming. Yes, he stood in the shadows behind a potted palm tree where no one would find him in this hot humid night. And sure, yes, he’d had to move said heavy and large potted plant to even get there at all, but still.

See, he had to move the potted plant because—this was where it got relevant—the ballroom was a no smoking zone and this was the only place he could light up without leaving a trace or being caught. At his own pseudo-homecoming party no less. 

Also plants absorbed carbon dioxide and released oxygen through the process of photosynthesis. Or something.

Never mind that he quit smoking a year ago or that he had no intention of starting the habit again.

He tapped the end of his unlit cigarette to a quadrille against the marble balustrade. Closing his eyes, he listened to the throng of people within, aristocrats of this day and age, laughing while throwing underhanded insults at each other, showing off their yachts, their new skyscrapers, the billions they were worth in holdings. This was never the world he wanted to be part of, yet here was. Dragged back in by the river.

Everyone came to see him, the prodigal son ready to take his place in the hierarchy of things. Ready to follow in his father’s footsteps and in his father’s father before him. Sammy had lived his life wanting to prove this system wrong, but never had he wanted to deliver this sort of revenge as much as he wanted it now.

He looked out at the blur of people who had watched him make a mess. If they expected him to make a mess yet again, then he would give them a mess they would talk about for years.

What a mess he was making as it were.

A soft click and the quiet turning of the doors startled him. A figure appeared in the darkness. A girl. She closed the door behind her with resignation, pressing her back to it as though she’d been chased there and sheer stubbornness would be enough to keep others away.

The sheer audacity of it made him believe she could.

If not for her coming through the same doors he’d escaped through, he wouldn’t have thought her a guest at the party. Staff, perhaps. She didn’t wear the same type of clothes the other women did—instead of stilettos she wore black pumps, instead of a dress she wore a tight grey skirt to her knees and a white button-down that fit her perhaps too well. Her hair was tied neatly back, and he couldn’t tell if she had on any fancy jewellery but he was willing to bet she didn’t. With her librarian glasses, he was almost too sure he’d hit his head somewhere and now one of those secret fantasies he’s had about being punished by the teacher was coming to him in his time of delirium.

Suddenly, Sammy was revising his earlier theory. It wasn’t that she was being chased but that perhaps she only made it look like it was her who was cornered. And just as her pursuer thought they gained the upper hand, she’d pull the figurative—perhaps even a literal—rug from right under them.

Pressing her hand to her chest, she moved forward with heavy breaths. She glanced behind her once, then twice. She was strung tight, walking with cautious steps. Her hands came to rest on the stone railing and she released a long sigh. _Had_ she been chased here? 

Or was she here to meet a secret lover?

Something unpleasant winded through him. He wasn’t sure what was worse, that she had some creep coming after her or that she was out here to meet some other creep. Both scenarios sent a murderous rage through him.

But then she laughed.

For a mad moment, he considered moving forward and stepping into the faint moonlight just to see better. To see her.

She pulled something out of the leather messenger bag hanging down her shoulder. Even in the dark, the faint lights from the ballroom was enough to give him an idea what was in her hands. She held it up against the inky sky, a book. He made out the cover, but barely. All he could see was the color. Hot pink and looking like it was ready to pick a fight.

“Well, I’m here now,” she said to it, sounding breathless. “This is the part where, I don’t know, something happens. Oh, wait, I’m supposed to make it happen. I don’t think I can do this. I know we’ve made it all this way after all that…all _that,_ and we’re here with purpose and we’re here to get stuff done, but—” she sighed again. “I don’t know if I can do this. I know I said I’ll make a heroine of myself but maybe we should just turn around and leave?”

“After you’ve already made it all this way?”

He shocked himself with his words. He shocked her, too.

“You scared me!” She tilted her head to have a better look at him from behind a large stretch of leaf. She swayed forward as if to take a step toward him, but she didn’t move. “What are you— _why_ are you—”

He lifted a wiry shoulder. Let it drop. Then raised his hand just barely into the slashes of light, the unlit cigarette still between his fingers.

“I guess that’s two of us trying not to get caught.” She didn’t appear to see him enough to recognize him. Was he hoping she would, or that she wouldn’t? He had been waiting for recognition, but nothing. Maybe that was a good thing.

Because he didn’t think it were the case, he asked “You here for a smoke, too?”

She raised her eyes toward the shadows behind him, stared at the void somewhere above his shoulder. “No…I…I guess it doesn’t matter why I’m here. I doubt my being here makes a difference anyway.”

“It does,” he said, and he meant it. “It makes a difference.” For one thing, she was in the way of his waiting for the rest of his night to begin. Nowhere in this plan was engaging conversation with girls who talked to books in secret dark corners.

“Then, I guess, you’re being here makes all the difference as well.”

He laughed, sort of. “Shouldn’t you be getting back in there?”

“And straight into the lion’s den? Why ever would I want to throw myself right into bodily threat?”

Who was she?

“And this, standing outside a dark balcony alone with a strange guy isn’t a threat? A balcony that happens to be corded off, just by the way.” It had been locked at his first attempt at getting through to the only balcony without all the lights on. He was certain he’d locked it after he got in.

She paused a moment. “Was it? I don’t think so. And no, comparatively, no.”

“Comparatively.” He almost growled out the word. True, he wouldn’t harm her. He wouldn’t lay a hand on her unless she asked. Perhaps the most danger she would be in was becoming an unwilling accomplice in the scheme he’d been devising should she stick around long enough to see it done. And that was by far more dangerous indeed.

“I have a taser. And pepper spray.”

“Good to know. How’d you get them past security?” No way was she able to carry that much on her. Not with all the important and rich people in this ballroom tonight. Again, who was she? A secretary? Someone’s assistant? Someone’s mistress?

No, that was not it.

“I…” She caught herself before the admission came.

Her fingers came to her lips, giving Sammy something to think about. Like what she looked like under full sunlight, if her lips were bow-shaped, full, or thin, though that didn’t matter as much as how they tasted.

Sweet, for sure. Like fruit he shouldn’t have.

“Are you meeting someone? A man?”

Another laugh. “I wish. There is no man in my life. Really, that’s what you think I’m here for? A man?”

He leaned an elbow on the railing, barely catching the light but enough to see more of her. “It’s a dark balcony. Good for…you know.”

“Well, I wouldn’t really know.”

“About balconies?”

“About the…” She shook her head, fanned her face. “The _you know_. Not really.”

He really shouldn’t have liked that answer.

He especially should not have liked the vision that came with it, of him and her in this dark balcony while all of who was who in current society was inside the ballroom doing whatever it was extremely rich people did. While his father was out there bragging and while his mother was making herself the most gracious host. He’d do good with that earlier fantasy, of undoing each button on her shirt as he held her against the wall while his other hand slid under her tight skirt. He’d do it slow, excruciatingly slow. For her, he’d take a little more time the usual. See what else he could make of that spark in her voice. See if she’d let him take her on that balustrade.

He froze. Shook himself back to the present. This woman, with her uptight clothes and likely boring job was not his type, yet something about her intrigued him. “What are you doing here, then?”

“Like you, I guess.”

“Like me?”

“Hiding.”

“I’m not hiding.”

She gave a nonchalant wave of her hand. “In any case, we’re both not supposed to be here.”

Here, out in the balcony maybe. _Here_ at the benefit? “ _I_ ’m supposed to be here, maybe not _on_ the balcony. Are _you_ supposed to be here?”

She cleared her throat. “Supposed to, yes. I mean, in the grand scheme of things my being here does have purpose. I came with purpose.”

A small smile tugged at his lips but only just so. “Did you come with an invitation?”

She lifted her chin defiantly up at him. “Did _you_?”

“I came through an alternate entrance.” Technically not a lie. He didn’t have to pass through the same doors and security as the other guests had. “Look at you, we have a trespasser. How _did_ you get in?”

“You realize if I answer your question that makes you an accomplice. The less you know the better.”

The less he knew, the more he wanted to come out of the shadows and approach her. Talk to her eye to eye, see for sure just what kind of brown the color of her irises were. But he pressed himself closer to the wall, remained just inside the void the darkness created where he could watch her unseen.

“Now I really want to know,” he said.

She released a breath. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Yes, but I can’t get to what I need to do while you’re standing here in this balcony with me.” Like jump into the next balcony, somehow find a way into his father’s assistant’s room and take a peek into his files. Sammy was certain what he was looking for wouldn’t be digital. His father was too old-fashioned. Besides, if it were as important as he thought it was, it would definitely be in a physical dossier somewhere.

“Oh. _Oh.”_

“What now?”

“The _you know_. That’s what you’re here for?”

Though he knew she couldn’t see him, the corners of his lips struggled to remain neutral. It was the principle of it, not letting her get to him. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

“You’re here for…for a…a _tryst_.”

The way she said it like it were a secret, more of a secret than these often _un_ romantic rendezvous went, made him even more convinced he should be the one to show her. But girls like her didn’t need guys like him. In this conversation alone he’d categorised her as a smart  practical woman. She should have a boyfriend. Or even a husband. Someone to have her own trysts with.

Never mind that he now had a thing for smart girls who have a sense of adventure.

“That’s not what I’m here for.” He didn’t have to answer, except he wanted her to know he wasn’t meeting anyone. Not that it mattered.

“Then what are you here for?”

“Probably the same as you.”

“Let’s see.” She ticked off a finger. “Not hiding, of course.”

“Of course.” A smile crept up his face that time, one he couldn’t hold back at her mirroring his own words back to him.

She shrugged a little bit. Ticked off the next finger. “Definitely not here for a tryst.”

“Can’t see why you wouldn’t be.”

She lifted her arms as if to say: look at me. “I believe I’m what the old matchmakers call a hopeless case. A spinster, or something.”

_You are not a hopeless case_. The words remained safe in his head. “You can’t be that old.” At most, and he was grasping at straws, she might have been a year or two older than he was, but no more. Even then, what did it matter?

“Everyone else seems to think I’m running on a deadline. Anyway, I’m not exactly pretty.”

Perhaps one could say she was plain, but even that was stretching it. All this time, Sammy couldn’t stop looking at her, eager to memorize her face with his eyes and with his hands and with his lips. She was interesting for sure.

“Also I’m boring.”

That was absolutely not true. Sammy could listen to her talk all night.

“Although, I find it hard to believe you’re here for a man, too. At least to convince him to leave you alone and let you live your life as you intend it to be because whatever he’s offering you’re not interested, thank you very much.”

“Actually, that does sound like what I’m here for.”

Her gaze narrowed at his direction. “ _Who_ are you here for?”

“Who’re _you_ here for?”

She cleared her throat, slipped her book back into her bag and straightened her clothes. “That’s a standstill if I see one. Hear one? Experience one? Anyway, I should go. Don’t let your boss catch you.”

“Huh?”

“It’s chaos out there, with servers trying to stay invisible at the same time omnipresent. I’m sure they’ve noticed they’re missing someone—”

“I’m not—“

“Of course, not. This is just your alternate entrance in. That’s actually a good idea. Maybe next time…no. I can’t afford a next time. You’re probably something far cooler. Like a musician with a band or whatever. You’re just here to temp on the weekends because we all just need to survive one way or another and I think that’s both admirable but also unfair. Suffering shouldn’t really be romanticised but here we are, still trying to make ends meet because for all that outcry about art being the closest thing to humans having a soul you really don’t _feel_ real ground-up support. Anyway, I should go.”

And there it was, that smile he’d been holding back. She was gone before he could call out for her, before he could catch her in the light to see what shade of brown her eyes were, before he could catch a glimpse of anything else that could attach her to an identity. This woman had him completely unbalanced.

A low whistle from the next darkened balcony brought him back to his purpose. It was time to return to his plan. Find the one thing his father desired the most but couldn’t have and come for it, claim it for himself so his father could never have it.

Then, and only then, could Sammy be free.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Violet Song stumbled into the car that pulled up on the hotel driveway and slammed the door shut as soon as she was safely in the passenger seat. She buried her face in her hands, tilted her head back, and stifled a sob. She’d made it as far as the ballroom before one of The Lion’s security details spotted her and she was forced into a dark balcony to lose his trail. The incidental fact that she had to pick the lock was merely that. A minor incident. A blip.

“Oh, Vi. One of these days I won’t be here to come to your rescue.”

“This isn’t a rescue,” she said, her voice muffled by her hands on her face. “You’re just the getaway driver.”

She dropped her hands and turned to Matthew Kim on the wheel. His face remained stoic, his profile all sharp angles and flat planes. He had pushed his sleeves up his strong forearms and the top two buttons on his button-down were undone. For a good moment, the sight distracted her long enough to forget she was upset at him. That he had been, and still was, upset at her, too. Though she figured the fact that he still came around when she called him probably meant she was in the clear for now.

He’d been against this plan from the beginning, but Violet, ever so stubborn, went ahead with it anyway. Still, she couldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right, though Matthew was never the type to take pride in it. He was the type to be there when she needed him no matter what or where or when. It was a terrible habit.

Even after all these years of looking at him, she still couldn’t help but think if they were in a novel he would be the perfect hero: tall (so very tall), handsome (so very handsome), and simply perfect (so very perfect) in every other way. He was kind, too. Honorable as far as lawyers went. True, he’d only been at it a year and perhaps the idealism in him had not been beaten out yet, but Violet knew her faith wasn’t wasted on him.

Unfortunately for her, even if they did live in a romance novel, she was no heroine.  She wasn’t vivacious enough, or spunky enough, or beautiful in a classic way. Often she felt as if she wasn’t even the main character in her own life. Nothing more but a spectator, invisible and blending into the wallpaper. Yet there was a part of her that still dared to hope, to try.

Try she did.

She’d made it this far, though in the end she had to abort mission and escape before she got caught. Not even a blip in the universe because of her. She was just there. Her presence didn’t make a difference

 _It does_ , the mysterious voice had said, _it makes a difference._

Warmth crawled up her neck and behind her ears. At least someone thought her presence made a difference, even if he had been a dark shadow in an equally dark balcony. In retrospect, she should have been afraid. Wasn’t she supposed to be afraid of the dark and the monsters that lurked within? Yet something in his voice had emboldened her, made her feel as though she could do anything she wanted to. That her cause is no fool’s errand.

She could still feel his voice on her skin, it rattled her nerves like a rumble of thunder in a hot summer night waiting for rain. If only she didn’t have to leave so soon. Maybe she could have coaxed him out of the shadows, see for herself what he looked like. She shook off the jumble of emotions in her chest. It was too much excitement for one night.

“This is real life.” Matthew’s voice broke her reverie. “You’re not a heroine in a romance novel. Let me take care of it.”

Truly, Matthew meant well. She knew that in her heart. But Violet didn’t require saving. She was not made of spun glass. She could fight her own fights, she’d been doing it for years. Nothing ever came easy for her. Often she had to work twice as much to be noticed, so much harder than she should have had to, really. That was the problem.

“It’s okay,” she replied. “I have it under control.” Mostly.

“Did you really think you could just show up there and guilt an entire board of trustees into letting you keep your bookstore? You’re talking about a mega corporation.”

“How could I forget,” she shot back, good-naturedly. “You keep reminding me.”

Violet had it all mapped out in her head. She would show up at the charity benefit and make a speech about how small businesses like her bookstore were vital to the local economy and relevant to urban culture. Furthermore, The Black Rose had been in her family for generations. She was practically running a heritage site. The company would care too much about the image they were projecting to reject her on the spot. That would at least buy her enough time and attention from the public to fight back. Matthew had said her plan was naively idealistic.

Violet wasn’t naive. She was desperate.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he said, glancing at her. “You’re going to give me a heart attack if you keep this up.”

Violet sighed. She appreciated that he was there for her. She really did. “I can’t just sit back and wait. I won’t sell them my land or my bookstore. It’s mine. It’s been in my family forever. I grew up there. Your parents bought their books there. So many people in the community have memories there. I’m not selling.”

“It’s a brick and mortar bookstore, do you really think it’s still relevant in the digital age?”

She never did let him see how much it hurt her when he said things like this. Because what he said was true. Matthew told her no lies. “For your information, I just installed an e-library at the shop. Publishing is not dead. You can’t tell me bookstores are dead. I have an e-reader and I still like physical books. Those are two different markets but they’re all books just the same. It’s not about that. You’re missing the point.”

They’ve had this argument far too many times in the past, words that never really changed anyone’s mind. Violet was tired of having to explain herself every single time. It wasn’t about the books, though that was a part of it. It was more than that. It was her life.

They idled at a stoplight. “I’m sorry, Vi,” he said, turning to face her. “I know how hard this must be for you. Ever since they started construction on the shopping centre they’ve been putting so much pressure on you. Especially now they’re trying to buy you out so they can expand.”

“Do you think I’m holding on to tradition too much?” Her neighbours had all sold out. They just upped and left at the first offer they received. Violet wasn’t waiting for an offer. She was waiting for them to leave her alone.

He laughed. “But that’s what I like about you.”

The words stabbed at her. Matthew, ever the personification of her silent heartbreak, always there for her but never the way she hoped. Never the way she wanted. They’d been friends far too long she couldn’t tell when her unrequited feelings started. All she knew was that she could see no end to her pining. It was sad, the way people looked at her as if all she ever did was wait for his eyes to fall on her and see only her. He never would. She knew that much.

She stared out the window. She might have even enjoyed the cityscape were it not for the heaviness in her chest. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I’m glad you’re safe. Next time, don’t do this without me. Okay, Vi?”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Next time I go to your first.”

“Let’s get you home.”

The rest of the drive was quiet. In her mind, she replayed the night over and over again, each time revising her actions until she got to the ending she wanted. It was a futile exercise, but Violet always found that thought exercises and visualisations helped. If only her thoughts didn’t bring her back to the balcony. It was moment, really. Fleeting at best. Strange to think Violet was always most comfortable in the dark where no one could see her.

 

***

 

Violet sighed as she stepped into her cramped studio apartment. Immediately she felt a pang of regret and wished she had asked Matthew to take her to the bookstore instead. He would say no, insist that she get some rest for tomorrow. He would be right. Matthew had a tendency to be.

Without flicking on the lights, she toed off her shoes and she walked through her small apartment. Other than the basics, she didn’t need much and it was easy navigating through. Her footsteps were sure, if trodden. She dropped her bag next to her futon then collapsed into it. She closed her eyes and listened to the life being lived on her floor. Through the thin walls, she could hear the grandma next-door watching a drama and enjoying it if her yelling at it was any indication. Across the hall, she heard small children running and laughing. Somewhere a baby was crying. The smell of dinner had remained in the air too, even long after dinnertime was over. Her stomach grumbled and she groaned into her pillow.

She really should just sleep. Worry about eating in the morning. At this point, she was just too tired to move. Even the thought of getting up to make instant noodles seemed like such a huge task, and she’d already expended all her energy for tonight’s endeavour. But she had to eat. So as she boiled water for her cup noodles, she changed out of her stuffy clothes, showered, and got into her pyjamas.

Her eyes fell onto her bag and reached into it to pull out the book she had been reading. The spine was creased and the cover was wrinkled, and she loved it to bits. She hugged the book close to her chest.

“I know it’s silly to hope,” she whispered into the shadows. “But I can’t help it.”

Her phone buzzed and she ignored it. Looking at it reminded her of emails asking—demanding—her to reconsider the company’s offer. No amount of money would make her change her mind. The Black Rose was worth more than that. And if it weren’t annoying emails, it would be work. More work. If not work, it would be Matthew checking in on her.

Violet felt trapped.

She was locked up in a tower with no way out.

As she ate, she opened her book and continued to read from where she left off, angling herself to catch some of the light that spilled over the window. It was a terrible habit, and after berating herself she switched open a desk lamp. At least Minerva and Lord St. Vincent wouldn’t judge her. They wouldn’t ask of anything from her other than her enjoyment of their shenanigans. She could indulge in the fantasy that somewhere out there someone was waiting for her to happen to them. That as she lay alone on her bed, someone somewhere was doing the same and hoping the morning would bring them together.

But the truth was Violet was just fine being alone. Books were better company anyway. In books, romance novels at least, she was guaranteed a happy ending. Her feelings wouldn’t be wasted rooting for two people who wouldn’t get together in the end. The same couldn’t be said for real life. Love felt more like the exception than the rule. If only her parents had been unhappy, then she wouldn’t hope like this. If they’d been a statistic, Violet might have grown up more cynical. More realistic.

Instead her parents were deliriously happy and in love. Just like the books. Violet wanted the fairy tale, and maybe that’s why a secret part of her always knew no guy would ever make it past her tower. Maybe that’s why despite herself she’d kept herself at a distance. She felt too deeply, it would be too easy breaking her heart.

It’s fine. Besides, she had other things to worry about. Tomorrow she had to open up shop and figure out a way to continue doing what she loved.

She went to bed, stared up at her ceiling, tried to imagine the void, and willed herself to sleep. She tossed and she turned. Utter failure. She read some more until finally she felt herself being tugged into the sweet darkness of slumber. She fell asleep wondering when the next chapter of her life was going to begin.

In her dreams, she was visited by a voice, dark and sensuous. He wrapped around her like a fog, clinging to her skin and showing her what skin should feel like. Violet was spinning far, far away from her bleak reality. In this fantasy, she wasn’t alone in her bed. Hot breaths trailed across her cheek and down her collarbones. Whispers confessed desires into her ear.  Telling her things. Intimate acts. Her heart raced and she ached. Expectancy thrummed in her. Anticipation.

All over, her flesh was warm and buzzing. This wasn’t one of her usual dreams. This felt real. More confusing. She couldn’t see a face or anything at all. Just the darkness over her, possessing her, claiming her. Mouth being kissed without her lips being touched. Her body being pinned to the bed without hands digging into her wrists.

Violet awoke with a start. A faint sheen of sweat dotted her brow and she wiped it with the back of her hand. None of her dreams had felt this real before. None of them left her so breathless. She was so sensitive now. Moving against her blanket sent jolts up her legs and her arms.

“Ugh,” she said to the room. “This is why you don’t read before bed.”

She sent an offended glare at Lady Minerva and Lord St. Vincent sitting not so innocently next to her pillow. The pink cover mocked her. The inside flap even more so.

Then, to the void she said, “The least you could have done was let me finish.”


	3. Chapter 3

Perhaps the greatest betrayal of all was that The Black Rose was pink.

Sammy stood across the street, seeking shelter from the rain beneath the awning of an Italian restaurant. The strip used to be a series of family-owned businesses until his father drove a wrecking ball right through it and built a high end shopping centre. Only the bookstore remained, shockingly out of place with its vintage pink facade and thick rectangular glass panes showing off books and candy heart messages. Across the main panel in romantic script were the words: The Black Rose. Below that, set in the between the arch of flowing letters was their symbol, a black rose with thorns rising out of an open book.

This was the one thing his father couldn’t acquire—how it must frustrate him to not get what he wanted. Sammy was impressed. No one said no to his father, except Sammy of course. He’d made a sport of disappointing his father, he turned it into an art form. If he could get his hands on this store and this land, he could hold it against his father for the rest of their lives. Perhaps beyond that. He hoped the betrayal would consume his father with anger and regret. Sammy vowed to make it so.

Or, depending on what it was worth to his father, he could use it as a bargaining chip for the final release of his trust fund.

What a truly delightful thought.

_Look at your only son now, Dad._

He stepped into the rain and crossed the street. As he walked up to the curb, he shook off the water from his denim jacket and pushed his bleached hair away from his eyes. His father’s assistant had supplied him only the bare basics, not because of loyalty to his father but because of fear. He had to do the rest of the work himself, as much as an online search could provide at least. The bookstore’s website and social media platforms provided nothing of worth to him other than a name: Violet Song.

The proprietor was a woman, and what better way to get what he wanted than to charm the pants off her. Or skirt. Everyone had a price, and if this woman wasn’t swayed by money, then he was going to figure out what did. Too bad his search didn’t provide him with photos. He was left to his imagination. Violet was probably a frumpy, middle-aged, librarian type, something Sammy had no problem with. Often with these types, all he had to do was act cute, bait them with affection, and reap the rewards from a lonely spinster. The best he could hope for was a homely wallflower who would easily cave to his attention. Not that he’d had much experience in the matter, but he’d gotten away with quite a few things in his lifetime.

_It’s because you’re your father’s son._

The thought was banished with the bright tinkling of the bell on the top of the door. Entering the shop, he searched for his target and braced himself. His gaze skipped over shelves upon shelves of romance novels with covers ranging from risqué to cutesy, staff picks with handwritten notes, and a center area with a lush wide couch, a loveseat, and a coffee table. No one else was inside the store but for a girl sitting behind the register, reading a very pink book.

Slowly, she looked up and he was staring at the face of the girl from the balcony. Her eyes were large behind her glasses, deep brown irises fringed with long lashes. Her lips were bow-shaped and snatched away what innocence her eyes had conveyed. Today her hair was down, softly framing her face and barely reaching her shoulders. The earthy brown sweater she wore was too big for her, but it gave her that warm cozy look. Sammy wanted to reach out and touch her, see for himself if she were real.

“Can I help you?” she asked, putting her book down.

He could have answered right away, but something had stopped him. It was the way she looked at him with more than just a curious interest. There was a spark of heat in those lovely eyes, though it was gone before he could acknowledge her reaction. His fantasy from the other night in the balcony played in his mind, merging seamlessly with the lonely librarian he pegged her to be. He couldn’t afford to think of her as anything else. He couldn’t afford to think of her at all.

 A second passed as he waited for a sign of recognition, but again nothing.

In her eyes, he wasn’t his father’s son. She had no idea who he was and could not make any assumptions about him. Sammy felt as if a magical door had opened up for him. And as he opened that door, all at once he was beset with two truths: First, he was going to enjoy getting close to her, and, second, he had no room to feel any remorse for what pain he would inadvertently, and inevitably, cause.

“Looks like we meet again,” he said, finally.

Her eyes widened with recognition before they narrowed suspiciously at him. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean?” he teased, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and taking a step toward her. “Are you saying you already forgot about our little tryst in the balcony?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But she did. He could tell, somehow. She searched his face, and when he arched an eyebrow at her she dropped her eyes and picked up her book.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, swaying forward one more step. He snuck a peek at her book, at the pink cover and the woman also dressed in a pink gown. The cover model lay on a chaise lounge, the neckline of her dress loose on her chest and her skirts drawn to her knees. He read the title out loud. “A Wallflower by Any Other Name?”

He grinned when she raised her eyes at him. And when she looked as if she forgot what she was about to say when she stared at his mouth, his grin widened. He was used to silly girls eager to keep him company, whether it was because they knew who his father was or because he was in a band, they were all the same. All of them blinded by their proximity to money or his would-be fame. This was new. Sammy hadn’t felt like this since he grew out of his awkward phase.

“Ha-ha,” she said, returning her gaze to the page she was reading. “Have your fun, go on. Let it all out. Have at it.”

“What are you talking about?”

She turned her nose up at him. “You’re making fun of my book.”

“Your book brought you to my balcony, I think I should thank it.” She was there for his father. To tell him off right in the middle of a ballroom. He almost cackled at the audacity of the idea. He was impressed. So impressed, he was sad to have missed it.

She snorted. “ _Your_ balcony?”

He made it to the register, rested his arms on the counter and leaned closer to her. He caught a whiff of her shampoo. She smelled like roses. “I was there first.”

“And I was here first.” She adjusted her glasses with a twitch of her nose. “Can I help you?”

He shrugged and gestured at the rain. “I don’t like rain. Jumped into the nearest roof. Maybe it’s fate, running into you again,” he hedged.

“I highly doubt that.”

Sammy laughed and peeked at the page from over the top of her book. She tilted the book away from him and closer toward her. “Are they having sex?”

He waited for a blush, or perhaps a scandalised gasp. Instead, Violet simply answered, completely nonchalant, “Not in this chapter.”

“No? What are they doing?”

She levelled him with an appraising look. “What do you want?”

He quickly scanned the back cover. “I want to know what Minerva and this Vincent guy are up to.”

She met his eyes, raised them to the ceiling, then back at him again. She pressed on. “Lord St. Vincent intends to seduce Minerva into marrying him so he can regain ownership of a piece of land he lost in a bet seven years ago that is now part of her dowry. But Minerva is insistent on living her life as a spinster and beholden to no man. So now he’s trying to win her affections, but…”

Understanding splashed over Sammy in surreal waves. It’s just a book, he reminded himself. It was a coincidence. Besides, he had no intention of marrying Violet. He was only here to have his curiosity sated. And to finally have full access to his trust fund. Nothing more.

“But?” he pressed on.

Violet shrugged. “He catches feelings. But he’s given her his first name, gave her permission to call him by something so intimate when no one else has the same privilege. He doesn’t know it yet, but he is. He’s in love with her.”

“Must be good if you built an entire store around these love stories.” He pushed himself off the counter and strode into the middle of the room. Hearts. Everywhere.

“Romance is a billion dollar industry,” she stated.

“You’re doing it for the money?” He didn’t think the store received _that_ much traffic. He was the only one there at present, granted it was a Monday evening. How did she keep the business running?

“No, silly,” she reprimanded him as if he were a child. “I’m doing it for love.”

There was no hesitation or hint of irony at all when she said it. An odd feeling ghosted the back of his neck. Love was a lie. A luxury he didn't deserve. One he couldn't afford. “You believe in that sort of thing, don’t you?”

She didn’t answer right away, only looking up after she turned the page. “I’m not naive,” she said, softly. “I know it never works the way it does in books, not even the sex, especially not that, but at least I believe in something. What do _you_ believe in?”

Sammy flopped into the love seat facing her. He got the feeling she hadn’t meant to say what she did, that it wasn’t something she said at all, least of all to strangers like him. The spark in her eyes and the rawness in her voice made him want more. Made him think of how else he could make her shine that way. He was definitely not used to conversations like this, especially not from women. He wasn’t used to conversation at all. “What do you mean especially not the sex?”

She adjusted her glasses. “It’s never as good in real life as it is in the books.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “And here I thought you said you wouldn’t know much about the _you know_.”

“Trysting,” she smarted. “I said I wouldn’t know much about trysting.” She opened her mouth to say something else, but snapped it shut. She continued reading, seemingly determined to ignore him.

Thus, he continued to watch her, equally determined. At least she wasn’t denying their earlier meeting or making him leave, that was a start at least. As he watcher her read, he noticed more about her that registered as understated. It wasn’t at all that she was plain, she simply didn’t mean to stand out. Unlike the shop itself, angry pink and demanding attention.

“What’s happening now?” he asked when her brows twitched and she gasped.

“Nothing,” she answered, “I mean, Lord St. Vincent is denying, unconvincingly, that he might have feelings for Minerva.”

“And that’s got you all worked up?”

She ignored him and continued reading. The rain, it seemed, only got worse. The hard pitter-patter was loud in his ears, as was the thunder rumbling overhead. They were stuck here for the meantime, and Sammy hoped no one would bother them for the rest of the night. He had a plan, after all. Though at the moment, he was scrambling to put the pieces back together. There was nothing timid about this woman, and the bare minimum of effort would get him nowhere. It wasn’t that she was complicated. People in general were easy. It was that usually he had a key to unlock secrets. He didn’t have that advantage with her.

Or maybe he did. “What’s happening now? Why is your face like that?”

Her frown was rather fierce as she scrutinised the page. “Are you really going to just sit there and watch me read?”

He lifted himself off the chair and stalked toward the counter. “You don’t look like you’re enjoying this part of your book.”

“Well, what a plot twist,” she said, “this is the part you’ve been waiting for.”

“That’s the face you make when you’re reading about sex?”

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s never good like that in real life. Best to keep my emotions in check. I'm very practical like that.”

He slid closer to her, and she didn’t back away. “And you would know.”

She bit her lip. “It’s really none of your business.”

He breathed a laugh. “The first time rarely is. You just have to give it some time.”

She rolled her eyes and kept reading. He watched a faint blush rise up her cheeks, and he let his gaze fall lower to her neck and collarbones, wondered if she blushed there, too. A grin tugged at his lips again.

“For your information, it wasn’t just the _one_ time.”

He felt personally offended for her, but he reminded himself this was all business. “You’re telling me, in the, what, three times you’ve been with someone it was all bad?”

She scoffed. “It wasn’t just _three times_. But yes. It’s never like it is in the books. What?”

It was so totally three times.

“Let me see that.” He held out his hand and asked for her book. Perusing the page, he found nothing that seemed to scream out unrealistic. The discovery surprised even him, surprising as it was funny. Even as he flipped to the end of the scene, other than the slowly and carefully drawn out foreplay and the cheesy dialogue, it was all so…vanilla. Passionate, but not unreasonably so. True, there was line there all about laying the woman down and worshipping her with his hands and his mouth, and Sammy couldn’t imagine anyone looking at Violet and not thinking the same.

“What?” she asked as he slid the book back into her hands. “Found what you were expecting?”

“That’s the romance novel hero you women are raving about?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to mock me for having standards? They’re already at Basic Human Decency and Not Evil, I don’t understand what is it about romance heroes you men find so intimidating.”

“I’m not intimidated,” he shot back. He tilted his head at her book. “I’m just saying whoever that guy you’ve been with was—all of them are probably some piece-of-shit-ass—“

“Or it could just be me, you know,” she said with a casual wave of her hand.

“You? What about you?”

Her brows wrinkled on her forehead. “I could just be bad at it? Or maybe I just don’t inspire the same…” she tilted her head in thought. “Passion. Maybe the reason no moths are drawn to me because I am not a flame.”

“How could you possibly be the problem?”

She shrugged. “Because I’m me. And I’m this.” She didn’t simply mean herself, she meant the bookstore too. She was all of this, and yet she felt inadequate?

“You’re not the problem.”

“Thanks, I think.”

He smirked. “I can do better than that, your Lord St. Vincent.”

“I’m sure you can,” she answered dismissively. With a sigh, she slid the book into the nook on her desk. When she looked back at him, she was holding back a smile. Enjoying herself, but only just so. He needed to take care of that too. No holding back, not with him.

“I really can.” That was the plan. He was going to romance the wallflower the way she wanted. Like a veritable fairy tale princess, and himself not a prince but a dragon who was to steal her away.

“Well then, good for you.”

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning if he tried. “I’m better than your book boyfriend.” For one thing he was real. Violet didn’t have to imagine being touched or kissed. He would gladly do it for her. Again, he reminded himself why he was doing this. His personal wants and needs had nothing to do with it.

“And I believe you.”

He laughed, inching closer to her. 

Close enough to kiss.

Close enough that she’d let him.

“I’m Sammy,” he said. Then he remembered he wasn’t supposed to know who she was. ”What’s your name?”

Her eyes fluttered, but she kept them open. “Violet,” she breathed.

“Nice to meet you, Violet.”

Her mouth turned up in a hopeful smile. And there it was, her gaze sparking with mischief and want. Her eyes homed in on his mouth then she lifted them toward his eyes. A fizzy sensation filled his head, but he shook it away. Sammy would give her the fairy tale she wanted, and then he would take her castle in exchange. If Violet only knew what her fairy tale cost her, she wouldn’t even consider him at all.

The very least he could now was make it worth it. Give her something like the books. More than the books. He would show her exactly how she could draw moths to her flame.

He just had to make sure he wasn’t singed in the process.


End file.
